Margo: Basalt is finally coming of age

I practically bumped elbows with Goldie Hawn at the grocery store the other day, doing my best to act normal and keep my eyes straight ahead as I chattered away on my cell phone. She was dressed in black leggings, a black ribbed tank and a wide-brimmed hat, looking like at least half the other women in the store who were filling their carts with gluten-free fusilli and oat milk creamer.

A celebrity sighting seemed to punctuate a week in which I’ve witnessed firsthand the transformation of Basalt.

When we first moved downvalley in 2012, one of the things I liked about our sleepy little town was its lack of identity. Other than being the place where Aspen hippies came to die, no one moved to Basalt to be cool. It lacked the kind of strong identity people want to attach themselves to or define themselves by, like Aspen’s hardcore fitness elite or Carbondale’s pretentiously un-pretentious hippie.

Its only semblance of nightlife was the live music on the patio at Heather’s, where unshaven old men in Hawaiian shirts like to party like it’s 1985 and talk about how many 100-day pins they have in their nightstand. Like Aspen’s ugly stepsister, Basalt lacked the kind of shiny popularity that gave its locals any bragging rights. It was most often described as a “bedroom community,” which always reminded me of something dirty or less-than, like a one-night stand or that guy who refuses to call you his girlfriend even after you’ve been sleeping together for six months.

I had serious FOMO for the first few years I lived down here, so freaked out about leaving Aspen that I once rode my bike to the Maroon Bells from our house up the Frying Pan just to prove to myself it wasn’t too far. Sixty-five exhausting miles later, I realized it was far.

My accountant Super Steve, a third-generation Aspen local who lives in affordable housing, told me that if I moved downvalley I would never ski again and that it would ruin my life.

It turns out he couldn’t have been more wrong.

After I had Levi, Basalt’s relative anonymity and lack of coolness didn’t bother me. I rather liked being out of the tourist zone where parking is free and a decent entrée at a local restaurant costs less than $30. I loved how casual everything was, swapping out my high heels for Uggs and platform sneakers. I especially loved the lack of pressure to look or dress a certain way. In the mom zone, you get a hall pass because it’s understood your priority in life is now about your kid, about being selfless and more concerned with what your kid is eating than what you’re not eating — not that I ever stopped being vain and a little bit selfish and self-absorbed, but you get the point.

It’s been a painfully slow coming-of-age for Basalt, but just like adolescence, just when it seemed like it was never going it happen, it happened all at once. Our little girl woke up one day and ditched her Elsa dress for a cropped top and high-waist cutoff shorts that exposed too much butt cheek.

Our modest historic downtown got a modern-day makeover with the sleek architecture that punctuates the west side of Two Rivers Road. It’s that stretch just past the four-way stop where the clean lines of the Rocky Mountain Institute and the mountain contemporary campus of the Roaring Fork Conservancy sit on the banks of the Roaring Fork where the all-glass walls of the Basalt Public Library are visible on the other side.

I’ll admit I was nothing short of appalled when construction began on the Basalt River Park townhouses. With their boxy, urban style and density, it felt like we had once again been sold out to the highest bidder with a high-end luxury development. But once the Basalt River Park was completed with open public space on the riverfront and one of our favorite local eateries took up residence front-and-center with a beautiful patio, I could finally see the bigger picture.

Fill that space with families, dogs, babies in strollers (and sometimes dogs in baby strollers), live music, a farmers market and community events, and you have a real town.

Basalt feels elevated all of a sudden, not quite gentrified but actualized. I thought about this the other day as I savored every bite of my $35 grilled lobster roll at Butch’s and tried on Italian-made shoes at the Posh Peacock. Thank goodness we don’t have parking meters or traffic jams or tourists en masse, but as I practically brushed elbows with a bonafide movie star (never mind that she’s lived in Old Snowmass and frequented Basalt’s local haunts for over 20 years), I felt a jolt of pride for our little town — she’s all grown up.

Ali Margo is sitting in the rain under an umbrella at the Basalt pool. Email your love to [email protected].

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